Picking Up The Pieces
by GeorgiiBee
Summary: Castiel is finding it hard to cope as a human. Dean is finding it hard to cope with the fact that he can't do anything to help. Dean x Castiel


Dean x Castiel goings on.

Hurt/Angst kind of feel.

Set after the happenings of Season 8, when Castiel is trying to adjust to the life of a human.

Enjoy!

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Dean glanced out from over his book at the man washing dishes on the opposite side of the room. It should have been just a normal scene, but looking closer you would be able to see that it was all wrong. Everything was all wrong. He and Sam had dressed him up in a plaid shirt (one of Sam's) and some jeans and shoes from Wallmart. They had shown him how to brush his hair and teeth, how to wash properly. They had shown him how to tie his shoes and how to eat without getting food all over himself. They had shown him how to look and act like a normal human being.

But what Dean saw in front of him wasn't a normal human being at all. It looked like a crumbling man, forced to wear a costume to please the audience that awaited him in the open world. But no matter how good he looked, Castiel couldn't act the part. The show was over before it had begun.

One thing Castiel couldn't get the grasp of was his ability to hide his emotions. He smiled, he tried, he was...energetic about the prospect of being a human. But he would only smile when he thought someone was watching. The only time he let his face fall was when he thought eyes were turned away from him. Only Dean could see. He saw the cold, empty look in Castiel's eyes. Dean could only imagine what grief the once-angel felt. His life as an angel, the greatest, noblest of creatures, was snatched away from him with just one slice of that knife; leaving him as nothing but a lowly human. A human who could feel emotion. A human who could hurt. A human who could die in the simplest of ways. And Dean ached for him.

Dean flicked the page of his book, keeping his eyes on Cas washing the plates stained with ketchup from the evening before. Except Cas wasn't doing the dishes, not really. He had stopped quite a while ago. He was simply staring into the filthy dishwater, wiping the same dish over and over in perfect circular motion. The lowered eyelashes of the former angel even covered his piercing blue eyes, making it even more seemingly, to Dean anyway, that this was no longer the angel he once knew. Even his enchanting eyes were hidden now. He was like a shadow, drifting aimlessly until it found its purpose. Only behind the mask he wore, Dean knew that Cas thought he had lost his purpose now. He knew that Castiel was drifting aimlessly into nothing, just waiting for death to creep up behind him and relieve him of the struggles he was living.

And this frustrated Dean. It frustrated him to no end. Because Cas _did_ have a purpose. His purpose was to look after Dean. Dean hated to admit it but it was true. He couldn't recall it ever beginning. It seemed like it had been there for as long as Dean had known the man. Every time Cas had appeared, wherever it may be, Dean would just feel...at peace. As if he had been struggles had suddenly been lifted, because Cas was there. Cas would help him fix it, and if he couldn't...well who the hell cared. Dean would die with Cas by his side. Without him it felt like there was something missing. It niggled at the back of Dean's brain wherever he went. Where was Cas? Was he ok? When was he coming back? It was like Cas was a drug. An irritating drug admittedly, but a heavenly one all the same. Cas's purpose was to fulfil Dean's addiction. To put his mind at rest and just...be there. To just be himself so he could remind Dean that not everything in the world was a piece of crap.

"Cas..." Dean said, hesitantly, quietly putting down his book.

The other man's body jolted at the sound, as if his brain had suddenly been switched on. His emotionless face was hurriedly put into action as Castiel, putting the dishcloth down, turned and smiled.

"Yes Dean?"

Dean sighed. His friend was looking at him in such a way that Dean wondered briefly if he had been conscious of the fact that he had been staring into the sink for 10 minutes. His 'I'm getting along fine' face was almost believable. But the eyes were the give-away. They were dead. Near glassy. There was no shine in them, no life.

"Cut the crap ok?" Dean stood up. "Sam's at the store. It's just me. So stop pretending that you're ok."

Castiel sub-conciously tilted his head a little to the side, reminding Dean of what the man used to be. "I don't know what-"

"Yes you do Cas," Dean said, almost sadly, "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Castiel's eyes dropped to the floor.

"Y'know, I'm not a complete idiot. I can see what's going on with you, even if you are insistent that I can't,"

Castiel slowly skimmed his thumb across the plate in perfect circles. "I'm...fine," he replied.

"No. No you're not. You _act_ like you're fine Cas, which is a very different thing. Believe me. I can see the symptoms. I've been there,"

"There's no need to worry Dean-"

"Well I do worry, clearly," Dean interrupted, "You're like a..." Dean searched quickly for a word, "..a brother to me. So why don't you tell me-"

"No Dean because-" Castiel interrupted,

"Don't lie to me Cas. Not after that shit with Crowley. Don't lie to me." Dean warned,

"I'm not lying to you Dean I-"

"I know someone who isn't ok Cas, and that someone just so happens to be you!" Dean snapped,

"I-"

"Why can't you just talk to me?!" the hunter yelled, his words bursting out of him in an angry flame.

"BECAUSE I DON'T NEED TO TALK TO ANYONE," Castiel cried. For a second, Cas was consumed with fury, so much so that Dean barely recognized him. His fists were clenched, his eyes blazing...and Dean knew more than ever that his friend was lying to him. "_I DON'T NEED ANYONE_," he yelled again, turning and hurling the plate at the wall, watching it burst into thousands of tiny shards of china.

The smash of the plate shot through Dean, rocking his insides and wiping out any words he was hoping to say to the man. Dean stared at the mess on the floor, unknowing what to think or what to do. Only knowing that this was not right. At all.

But before Dean could do or say anything, the anger seemed to drain from Castiel's body, leaving nothing but the weak, emotionless man there had been just a few seconds ago. Snapping back to reality, the man hurriedly walked over to the mess and sat on his knees, picking up the pieces, head down in embarrassment. Dean could see from where he was standing that the shards were cutting the once-angels fingertips - bright scarlet blood was dancing its way down his fingers. He didn't seem to notice.

As he looked at his friend he realized that this was possibly one of the lowest points of his life. On his knees, picking up the pieces of a dinner plate, unable to fix it...unable to fix anything. Trapped in a home where he couldn't help but feel like the lesser man. The lesser creature. And Dean's frustration vanished, replaced with sympathy, and the dull ache of helplessness. Castiel was insisting his happiness, meaning Dean couldn't really do anything but watch from the sidelines as angel collapsed from the inside out.

Hesitantly, Dean made his way to the hunter and knelt down beside him, helping him to pick up the mess. "You'll need to put the pieces in the trash," the hunter said quietly, "And clean up those cuts,". Dean waited for Castiel to object, or reply in the least. The other man continued picking up the plate pieces.

"But seriously," Dean said carefully, not wanting to upset Cas again. "You need anything..."

The other man raised his head to look Dean dead in the eye, causing Dean's speech to dwindle. Cas was clutching the china so hard in his hand, Dean thought, that it must have been hurting like hell. But that didn't seem to bother him as Castiel continued to look up at the hunter, the ice blue pupils sending chills up Dean's spine. Castiel hadn't looked him in the eye for a long time, Dean had almost forgotten what it felt like to have the once-angel's eyes on him. The former angel looked at him with such curiosity and intensity that Dean could have sworn he saw a glimpse of the old Cas, flicker through his pupils. He couldn't bring himself to look away. And then Cas seemed to remember just where they were, and the small glimmer of life vanished.

"Thank you Dean," Cas murmered, going back to picking up the plate remenants. "But I'm fine," he repeated quietly.

The angel stood up, his grip around the shards of plate tightening. "Who needs wings anyway?" he said, determination in his voice. "If you can live without them then so..." Castiel paused, "...So can I," he forced out, turning away to the trashcan under the sink.

Dean wondered who Castiel was trying to convince, Dean or himself. With a sigh he stood up, and tossed the china into the trash. "When you're ready to admit to yourself that you're not ok... then you let me know," He said, unable to help the frustration that tinged his words, as he quietly made his way out of the room. Somehow he knew that Castiel wasn't watching him leave. Somehow he knew that Castiel was back inside his own head. Without Sam. Without Dean. But with his family, where everything was ok.

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This was my first fanfiction, so I didn't attempt anything too outrageous!

I'd appreciate it if you could write a review,

But all the same, thanks for reading ^-^


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